


J is for Jailbird

by goodmorningvietnam666



Series: IronHawk Alphabet [10]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Future, Imprisonment, Love, M/M, Tony is a bad guy, Tony is sort of superior Iron Man but not really, Trust, Villainy, communicating with writing instead of speaking, space-themed universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningvietnam666/pseuds/goodmorningvietnam666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>How many people did you manage to piss off?</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em> Oh, you know, the galaxy </em></p><p> </p><p>When he's thrown into The Chamber, a prison with silence as its punishment, Clint never expects to find friendship. </p><p>He certainly doesn't expect to fall in love with a murderer</p>
            </blockquote>





	J is for Jailbird

**Author's Note:**

> I almost ran with this as a full story, and was very close to doing so when I realised how much substance there could be to the story, but in the end I tried to focus on keeping it short and simple. 
> 
> This may seem a little rushed and I apologise - it hasn't been properly edited yet and it only a second draft. 
> 
> Boring stuff aside - here's the story!

In all honesty, he could have landed a worse place to spend eternity. 

The prison they’d sentenced him was one of the most secure, quiet prisons in the galaxy, known commonly to guards as “The Chamber” but officially called the ‘Galactic Observance and Imprisonment Centre”. It was a genius design really – once entering the prison a sound barrier prevented any and all noises – communication was achieved by small holographic boards that could be marked by the prisoner’s fingers – fights were at a general low, due to the very fact that with no sound, a battle was no longer a way to get attention. 

Quiet prison was now something he realised was extremely accurate. 

He was nervous – how bad were the people that were locked away in here? He’d seen several known criminals that he himself had put away, and felt the irony when they stared him down, recognition clear in their eyes. 

He had been on a mission when he’d been arrested, still felt the pain of the gun that had been shoved in his back, but more so the pain of losing his life to one stupid decision. 

His name was Clint Barton, one of the few human agents of a galactic division of what he had lovingly called ‘super spies’, and he had been one of their very best agents – better than any alien with complete knowledge of the system.

Though, the lack of knowledge was what got him into the mess. 

Maybe he was being bitter, but he felt like his arrest had been a bunch of bureaucratic conveniences as opposed to him doing anything wrong; but he could do little now – they couldn’t hear him argue in here. 

The cells of the prison were clear cut, thicker than even metal, glass walls that were opaque but for two, the front, which transitioned between clear and smoky depending on guard presence, and one side wall, for communication between two prisoners. Cameras were everywhere here, and Clint knew exactly how secure this place was before he had walked in, but was still amazed by the amount of heavily armoured guards circling the prison. 

Once placed in his cell, he was explained the rules through a wordy manual and then left to his own devices and Clint lay on his back for a brief moment, taking in the cool of the cell and sighing, feeling strung out and hating the fact that the exhale made no sound. He clamped his mouth shut and promised he’d never make a noise again and glanced over at the sound of tapping glass to find his neighbouring prisoner. 

The other man was offering an inviting smile to him and Clint offered a small one back, receiving a grin in response. 

He was curious, but not desperate enough to converse with a prisoner, and so watched the other man, propping himself up on his elbows and watching the man keenly. A board was placed up against the translucent glass and he had to lean forward to read the rushed, yet steady, scrawl. 

_“What’re you in for?”_

He huffed a laugh, frowning when it made no noise and vowing to get used to it, and sat up, taking his own board and thinking over a response. 

**“Politics”**

The other man grinned in response and ran a sleeve along his own board, writing again _“Me too”_

**“Oh yeah? How many people did you manage to piss off?”**

_“Oh, you know, the galaxy”_

He raised a brow and got a shrug in reply, he shook his head and erased his own words **“I’m Clint”**

_“I’m Tony – were you born on Earth or in one of the settlements?”_

Humans had taken to settling on other countries, spreading through the galaxy like an unstoppable virus, and Clint had been wondering the same thing before it had been asked **“Earth – America”**

_“I was born there too– we moved out into space when I was three and dad never looked back – what’s it like?”_

**“I don’t have much to compare it too – the air’s cleaner and the people are nicer I guess”**

They took a long moment of pause then, and Clint took to watching Tony with a muted curiosity, wondering exactly what kind of criminal he’d been placed next to.  
_“If you’re wondering, I broke the law, murdered people and almost became the most feared man in the universe – politics unfortunately got in the way… I’m almost over it”_

He sat still for a moment, processing the words in front of him, before he shook his head and wrote a response **“You’re telling me you tried to rule the galaxy? Why? All I did was piss off my officials”**

_“Honestly? I got bored, being a good guy was predictable – I wanted to know what it was like on the other side of the coin”_

**“I don’t really know how to feel about that”**

_“It’s okay, my parents don’t either, I don’t mind what you think of me – I made a mistake and I’m working on fixing it”_ Tony smiled at him in a sad way, and Clint found he couldn’t muster up any anger towards the other prisoner, only sympathy

He hovered a finger over the board, wanting to find some kind of response, but instead found himself lost for words instead; eventually they both lost interest and carried out the day alone. 

For the first day, he asked tentative questions about Tony’s life, answering the same ones himself, and found the day simply flew and by the end of the first week he knew all of the trivial things about Tony: his favourite colour, band, food and all sorts of other pointless information and Tony knew the same information about him.  
He was, even if he didn’t want to admit it, starting to enjoy himself in this murder/conqueror/villain’s company. 

**“Okay, how about this, your favourite… I think we’ve covered it all”**

_“I don’t doubt that, can you see the time from your cell?”_

**“It’s been two hours since lights out – it’s probably nine o’clock”**

_“Okay, new line of questioning: What do you look for in a friend?”_

Clint paused, reading the question twice, and slowly, still thinking as he wrote, answered **“Well, they have to be funny, honest and hardworking – I don’t like people who refuse to work for their rewards – but beyond that they have to listen, really listen, when I look for people to trust I need to be convinced I can trust them… you know?”**

_“Trust issues?”_

**“Something like that”**

_“Me too”_

They sat there for a long moment, just quietly watching one another, sitting close by so their writing could be better read, and Clint had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that despite the glass wall, he’d never felt closer to another person. 

Slowly, carefully, afraid of saying the wrong thing, he wrote on his board again **“It’s weird Tony, but I feel like I already know you, like we’ve met a thousand different times and I just don’t remember it, I feel like I can trust you…. It’s weird right?”**

_“Not really, this universe has been scientifically proven to be one of millions, it’s likely that there’s an alternate reality where we’re close friends – it’s been proven that some people who have only met once have commented on ‘knowing them before meeting them’ when interviewed… I feel the same I that helps, about trusting you”_

He smiled and let a silent laugh pass his lips, forgetting for a moment that he had promised he wouldn’t, and then turned back to his board **“Could we be friends? Would that work?”**

_“Anything is possible, silence and walls haven’t stopped people before”_

After that night, Clint felt a shift in their relationship and late night talks about important things like the past and past mistakes became the norm, he was tired but the feeling was overwhelmed by the other insistent push of companionship. For two months, so short he barely noticed them pass by, they carried on like this, sharing themselves and becoming close friends, which seemed to surprise the nearby guards but Clint was more than happy to keep them guessing. 

After years of staying on his own, of being too afraid to put himself on the line and trust someone in the agency, he had finally managed, in prison, to a murderer of all things, to trust. 

It felt incredible, suddenly everything was no longer a long kept secret, and suddenly he could talk freely and openly about both himself and about someone else, and have someone who listened. 

It took another four months for him to realise he was falling in love. 

He was shocked to discover it at first, and had lain awake one long night thinking over the idea, promising himself it would become clear that he had gone mad in the morning. 

However, in the morning, it became clear that he was perfectly sane, and that worst (or best) of all, he was right. 

He looked up that night to the tap of a finger on glass, and glanced in the direction of Tony’s cell, where his friend sat with a smile on his face. 

_“You okay?”_

He nodded and met Tony at the glass with his own board, sitting as close to the glass as he could and watching his friend for a long moment. The pause allowed Tony time to change his message. 

_“You sure?”_

He nodded again and glanced down at his own board, jerking his head up at the tap on glass and meeting Tony’s gaze. 

_“I wish I could talk to you properly: I would know what you sounded like… Clint I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out”_

**“Okay… tell me”**

_“I love you”_

And that was all he wrote, no offers of explanation or apologies, nothing but those words. It hit Clint like a tonne of bricks and he avoided gasping for the mere knowledge that it wouldn’t make a sound anyway. He was frozen that way for a very long time before he managed to make his hands work. 

**“I think I’m falling in love with you”**

The smile he got back could have lit up the prison with its radiance and Clint couldn’t fight his own, pressing his hand to the glass to align with his friend’s when it was offered to him: he’d never felt further away than right then. 

Soon their smiles faded, Clint had a feeling that they had realised the same thing then: they could never properly meet – this was all they had. He wanted to scream. 

Then, suddenly, Tony had erupted into action; hand whirring along, writing fast and untidy, and Clint took a long time to read the words there. 

_“I’ve tried really hard not to be the villain, to live out my sentence and become better but I can’t – I need to hear your voice and know how rough your hands are and know what it’s like to hold you close – I have to get us out of here and what you’re going to see will probably make you hate me more than anything in the world but honestly even if you yell at me once we’re out of here I’ll have heard you speak and that will be all I’ll ever need”_

**“What are you going to do?”**

_“I’m about to become everything you hate in a person and I’m so sorry”_

It happened fast, so fast he was sure he was dreaming, but in place of Tony was a metal suit that had literally, folded out of his friend and then just as quickly the cells were gone and there were prisoners everywhere. 

Four months of inaction was nothing to him, and as quickly as the guards came they were just as quickly knocked out – unfortunately they were the lucky ones because the pristine prison was now tainted with red. 

First thing he hated about people: liars. Tony hadn’t told him about… he was going to call it armour for now – he hadn’t told him about the armour he possessed. 

Second thing he hated about people: killers. But he had known that already about his friend and even though it was horrifying he’d get over it. 

Third thing he hated about people: selfishness. The death and destruction wasn’t for anyone but Tony. 

The entire prison escaped that night, and Tony had been eerily quiet once the armour had fallen away and they had joined several other prisoners on a ship headed to Earth. He was quiet too, unsure he trusted himself to say anything useful, and afraid to break the silence of the ship. 

“What took you so long?” One prisoner asked Tony, and his friend had shrugged with a soft smile, and Clint could have sworn he saw regret in the other man’s eyes, but chose to ignore it for now. 

One month later and the ship had touched down on Earth – known affectionately by aliens as ‘Refugee Camp’ but by its people and ‘Home’ and even though he was afraid for himself and Tony, he couldn’t help but be glad to be out of prison and home. 

Once the group they’d been travelling with dispersed, Clint caught sight of his friend standing facing the ocean. They landed somewhere in Scotland, and the craggy cliffs jutted out at random intervals along the dull coast. Black water smashed against the rocks and a cool breeze played at the loose fitting clothing Clint was wearing. 

He stood next to Tony and said nothing for a long time, letting his gaze glaze over and taking in the scent of real air, the smell of the sea and bite that the wind had to it. 

“Over thirty years away… it’s like I’ve never been here”

He was surprised when Tony spoke, surprised himself that he had forgotten that they could speak, and he smiled at the way that his friend’s voice suited his personality. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out and took Tony’s hand. 

“I forgive you” he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the prison break, or Tony’s past crimes, but he knew he meant the words, and he admittedly was shocked at the gravelly texture of his voice. 

His friend turned to him and he did the same, regarding the other man with curiosity. 

“I love accents” Tony replied weakly, and Clint only just realised that he’d been crying. He pulled the shorter man in close and pressed their lips together, correcting the clumsy action and adding pressure after a moment of pause. It would take time, and a lot of sacrifices, but he’d never been surer of something in his life: this was the person he wanted to spend his life with. 

Damn the consequences.


End file.
